45. Misely
forty-five
Misely
E verything about leaving Talon behind in that kitchen felt wrong. Where I should have been elated to finally be rid of the man and on my way home, it was overshadowed by the fact that I was undeniably infatuated with him. And then there was leaving behind Birdie when all I really wanted was to curl up in her arms and cry.
There wasn’t any time for that though because I hadn’t lied. Benji really was missing. Barbara had called while I was wrapping up my conversation with James, who had also taken me completely by surprise. Apparently, Benji’s foster parents had stepped into his room that morning when he didn’t come down to breakfast to find his bed unmade and empty. The police were already out looking for him, but I’d seen this story play out too many times to trust that they’d follow through. And if they did find him, I had to be there.
Birdie squeezed me tightly as we approached the line for my terminal, grateful to whatever higher power was watching out for me when there was one last seat available for a flight out to Chicago.
“I’m so sad you’re going.” Bird’s voice shook. “But I know you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“I’ll come visit again. Now that I know where to find you.” Our chuckles were watery, muffled between us as we squeezed the life out of one another. Sniffling, Birdie pulled back, keeping hold of my hands.
“I’ll hold you to that. What do you want me to tell Talon about…well you know.” Her gaze dropped to my stomach.
My heart pinched in my chest, fracturing a little bit more. “Tell him the truth. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter either way, he’s drawn his line in the sand. Whatever the hell we were doing, it’s over.”
“Misely—”
My flight was announced over the loudspeaker, both of our heads jerking at the sound. I sighed, tightening my fingers around Birdie’s as I took her in one more time. “If I learned anything from the catastrophe that was my last relationship, it was that I can’t stare at a closed door and wishful-think it into being a window. That door is closed. I have to go, but I’ll call you as soon as I land.”
“You better.” We embraced again, our bodies quivering in our sad attempt to keep from crying. “Fuck, I love you so much, Mize.”
“I love you too.” I lost the battle with the tears first, the drops streaming down my cheeks freely. We were spared only an extra minute, the final boarding announcement calling out over the airport’s speakers. With a final squeeze, I pulled away and jogged down the lane toward my flight.
It took three days to find Benji, but when we did it was because I had combed over every shred of notes taken down during our visits until I found the one I was looking for. Apparently, me insisting he was at his great aunt’s was not enough of a reason for the police to actually go look for themselves. And apparently, Barbara had no record of the aunt.
But I did. Because I’d spent hours with this kid and listened to him when he spoke. I heard him when he told me that his mother’s aunt, Joan, was the only family he trusted. Unfortunately, she was quite elderly and had a hard time getting around, making her unsuitable to care for Benji long term, according to the court documentation. I was willing to bet money that if he had run away and gone anywhere, it was to her.
When I found the notes and documents from the initial custody case the state had opened, I’d all but run to the police station, immensely grateful when they gave me the green light to follow them to the house. It was a quaint little yellow house in a small neighborhood right outside of the city. I could easily see how it would bring comfort to a kid whose entire life had consisted of living in hotel rooms and a bunch of random Joe’s living room floors.
The officer strode ahead of me, tapping his knuckles against the white paint of the front door. Surprise floored me when a woman just a hair shorter than me and no older than my mother, opened the door. She, on the other hand, did not seem the least bit surprised to see us. Leaning into the doorjamb, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“You must be here for my nephew.”
“Good morning, ma’am. Are you Joan Wright?” the officer asked, pulling his notepad from his shirt pocket and flipping it open.
The woman nodded, perfectly groomed brown curls bouncing on her shoulders as she looked up at him with accusing gray eyes. “That would be me. What can I help you with?”
“Well, as you guessed we’re here looking for a Benjamin Wright. He’s been reported as a runaway and we have reason to believe he’s here.”
Joan snorted, a sneer pulling at her lips. “Runaway? And what exactly did he run away from? His deadbeat mama? Or another foster family that laid their hands on him?”
My unfiltered gasp had Joan’s gaze shooting to me, flicking from my face to my feet and back again. “And who the hell are you?”
The officer made to bring her attention back to him, but I spoke first. “My name is Misely Fisher. I’m overseeing Benji’s case with the City of Chicago Children’s Center.”
“I thought Barbara was his caseworker.” It wasn’t a question.
Shaking my head, I mimicked her pose, cocking a hip and crossing my arms. Joan didn’t strike me as the type that liked dealing with stiffs.
“Barbara is with DCFS and we’ve been collaborating on Benji’s case while I was out of town. I have been working with Benji for about a year now, I’m surprised he didn’t mention me.” And maybe a little hurt, but I kept that to myself. This was one of those things that was definitely not about me or my personal feelings. Joan glared at me for several long moments, but I held my ground, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“Is Benji here or not? Because if he’s not, then we’re wasting a whole lot of time here when we could be out there looking for him.”
This seemed to be the first thing that caught the woman off guard, her eyes widening just a fraction before she blinked away the minor shock. “He’s right inside having breakfast.”
I’d almost forgotten the officer was there until he cleared his throat, making me jump. “We’ll need to have the boy come with us.”
I stepped in front of him, holding a finger up. This was already a very delicate situation and the last thing I wanted was to create yet another traumatic experience for Benji. “Hold on,” I said, meeting Joan’s eyes. “I’d like to take a look around, if that’s all right with you. Do you mind if we come inside?” I implored her the best I could with nothing but the steady stare held between us, pleading for her to just hear me out.
A moment later, she gave a small nod, opening the storm door wider for me to step through. I took in everything, making mental notes of the small but organized entry way, the living room that was warm and cozy, the dining room with the round table, and a twelve-year-old boy who sat eating a stack of fluffy pancakes. A breath I hadn’t known I was holding whooshed out of me and I had to force my feet to stay planted to the floor.
He was right there and was okay. More than okay. The clothes he wore were clean and until he saw me standing there, he looked utterly serene eating the warm breakfast that his aunt had made him. When he noticed me, his face went ghost white.
“Miss Misely, you—you’re here .” His voice was very much, like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar and I had to resist laughing. The relief in knowing he was safe was almost too much to bear, even as he sat there looking like he was gearing up for the tongue lashing of a lifetime.
“I am so glad you are okay,” I said, letting the relief I felt seep fully into my voice. His expression went from apprehension to surprise and then to confusion, in that order. I took the liberty to sit across from him and smile, taking in his face. “But we have a lot to talk about.”